


Clocks

by Boxxsaltz



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: Drama, F/F, Hitman AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boxxsaltz/pseuds/Boxxsaltz
Summary: A collection of standalone oneshots of moments between two demons and an angel.
Relationships: Han Dong | Handong/Kim Yoohyeon/Lee Yubin | Dami, Han Dong | Handong/Lee Yubin | Dami, Kim Yoohyeon/Lee Yubin | Dami
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	1. Clocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small oneshot inspired by a dadong fanart by @minkayla_ from very long ago that unfortunately I can no longer locate. But here are the spoils. Enjoy!
> 
> [2yoo/2yoodong] In which demons are graced by an angel.

Sun spills through the window. There’s a small crack in it that streaks across the glass. Yubin reminds herself as she always reminds herself to get it fixed. It’s been nine months and the reminders never seem to stick.  
  
She sucks in a breath from the cigarette between her lips, taking smoke into her mouth where it crinkles in her lungs. The sheets on the bed beneath her have long since smelt of ash. She’s used to it now. The way the smoke envelopes her, sticking around like a friend she’s never known. People like her don’t have friends. They’re liabilities. It’s a wonder that Handong has fused herself into her life though it’s not exactly because that’s what they wanted.  
  
Yubin looks over at the space on the bed beside her. The space Handong often takes though she’s not the one occupying it now. She can’t say they’re lovers but they’re something more than colleagues. More than partners. More than friends. Their bond is forged in gunpowder and bullets, shared experiences that took place behind the triggers of guns, hauntings of demons that follow them from the lives they have taken.  
  
Leading a life as a phantom of death isn’t what Yubin thought she’d do when she was a kid but here she is. Having someone to do it with makes it a little easier though never any less dangerous.  
  
And here was someone perhaps more dangerous than she and Handong combined. More deadly than the taste of liquor off Handong’s lips that mixes with the smoke on Yubin’s breath on nights where they find it’s easier to express their relief of living another day after a risky mission with skin on skin instead of words of praise and affirmation. More terrifying than the people they work for and could change the course of their lives with the snap of the fingers.  
  
The body stretches long beneath the blanket, ash blonde hair fanned across the pillow. Their breathing deep from slumber, back to the ceiling where a fan turns. Yubin lifts a hand, aiming to run her fingers through the locks. She stops herself and lets it fall back against her thigh. She leans back against the headboard and examines this creature with eyes instead of touch. Yubin was never meant to touch and _she_ was never meant to be here. She shouldn’t be here. Kim Yoohyeon shouldn’t be anywhere near here.  
  
She belongs to the family that Yubin works for. Is owned by. Same as Handong. A family feared and respected. Their influence runs deep. Their power mightier than anyone could fathom. The only other family that could come close is the side that they’re against. The side that Yubin has traded bullets with on more than one occasion. However, she’s never been as terrified facing off with them as she is having Yoohyeon in her bed.  
  
If the family finds out...if _he,_ the head of the family, Yoohyeon’s father, finds out…  
  
The body stirs, squirming beneath the blanket with little groans as the threads of sleep slowly fall away. Eyes split open bringing brown against brown that peer through strands of hair. Yubin fights the urge to brush it away from Yoohyeon’s face. She doesn’t know why. She’s past the point of no return. Her fingers have left prints in all the safe spaces of Yoohyeon, her lips on softer and intimate areas. It’s pointless to hold herself back now but she does. This morning she does.  
  
Maybe it’s because of what happened yesterday. Hours before the sun even rose. When Handong fell into the passenger seat of their getaway car with no words. When Yubin looked over at her from behind the wheel and saw the emptiness in her eyes when she said, _"it’s done”_. When she started the engine and pulled away from the home where the five bodies of a family now painted the walls and the floors in crimson. When Handong drank herself to sleep and turned off her phone so no one not even Yubin could contact her.  
  
In the silence, in the spaces usually occupied by her counterpart beside her as they tinkered away in their little watchmaking shop, Yubin was left to think. She was left to reflect on the beings they were—who she was. She was made to remember that she was a devil and deserved nothing but hell. Not Yoohyeon’s smile as she walked through the door. Not Yoohyeon’s laughter. Not her kindness.  
  
She shouldn’t be able to touch her. Not with hands like these. She’s filthy. Stained. Tainted. Yoohyeon is pure. Yoohyeon is...  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Yoohyeon’s voice is light and weighted by sleep. A little raspy around the edges. Her lashes are long and heavy, moving slowly as she blinks. She’s pretty. The sun hits her just right and she’s radiant. Yubin wonders how she was deemed worthy enough to be graced with the presence of an angel.  
  
Yubin shakes her head and taps out the ashes of her cigarette into a glass on the night table. “Nothing.”  
  
Yoohyeon’s nose scrunches. “You always say that.”  
  
“I always mean that.”  
  
Yoohyeon rolls onto her back. She’s in one of Yubin’s shirts. A plain, white tee. It fits her well enough. She’s pushed up the sleeves and it’s bunched up around her stomach where her belly button peeks out. The blanket rests just below her hips, pushed down to let in some air. It’s warm. Summer is relentless this year.  
  
“You’re always so mysterious.” Yoohyeon lifts a hand, index finger pointed, and pokes it into Yubin’s cheek who doesn’t flinch. “I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours.”  
  
Yubin just looks at her. She doesn’t know what to say. She’s had to filter her words so much around Yoohyeon that she’s almost afraid to simply talk. It’s easier when they don’t. It’s easier when Yoohyeon talks, telling tales of her travels abroad. She has tons of them. Enough to fill libraries.  
  
Yubin always knew that her boss had a daughter. One that was away traveling the world. That’s all she knew for years until the mystery was broken and now the girl she only knew in passing thought was a reality. Flesh and blood and beating heart. Yubin won’t forget the day Yoohyeon walked through the front doors of the watch shop with the beautiful jeweled piece she had inherited.  
  
She won’t forget because that was the day she left a capture in the back, zip tied and gagged and beaten bloody during the course of an interrogation. Yubin wanted to get rid of the girl quickly. She should’ve flipped the sign to closed to keep anyone from walking in. Damn her slip in forethought.  
  
To this day, she’s glad Yoohyeon didn’t notice the blood under her nails. Or the way her fingers were trembling when she took the wristwatch Yoohyeon brought that held the insignia of the family on the back that told Yubin everything she needed to know about who the girl at the counter was.  
  
She should’ve told Yoohyeon that she couldn't help her. She should’ve sent her on but she didn’t. She didn’t and now...now they were…  
  
“Why don’t you talk to me?” The frown on Yoohyeon’s lips reflects in her voice.  
  
Yubin breathes in more smoke. It’s tasteless now. Doesn’t give the desired effect when there’s something much better than nicotine next to her. “I talk to you.”  
  
“But you never tell me anything,” says Yoohyeon. The finger on Yubin’s cheek becomes many as Yoohyeon cups it. Her touch is oddly chilly. “Not really.”  
  
“Telling things is hard.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be. Not with me.”  
  
A thumb strokes across Yubin’s cheek before Yoohyeon slides her fingers across and takes the cigarette between two. Yubin lets her pull it from her mouth and bring it down to her own lips.  
  
She’s clumsy with the stick, nearly dropping it on her face. She catches it before it can fall and singe her soft cheeks and takes a drag. She doesn’t cough as she does it which makes Yubin think. Makes her wonder if Yoohyeon is just as much sin beneath it all as her family is. As Yubin is.  
  
No way. She couldn’t be.  
  
The mattress waves as Yoohyeon sits up. Her eyes are sharp and intense as they find Yubin’s. Fingers poise just beneath Yubin’s chin and Yoohyeon leans in. Lips part and Yubin opens her mouth just in time to accept the smoke Yoohyeon breathes into it, slow and steady.  
  
“It can be just as easy as sharing this,” Yoohyeon mutters, lips grazing Yubin’s. Yubin shivers at the touch. A little too intimate. Too close. Her heart spikes. “Or”—Yoohyeon gives her the smallest of pecks—“this.”  
  
Yubin’s shoulders tighten. Yoohyeon is wrong. This isn’t easy. Allowing her into her home wasn’t easy. Opening up the safety of her bedroom, offering her bed, letting hands touch her, lips caress, bodies mold wasn’t easy. Nothing about this is easy.  
  
But she allowed it. She allows it. If only because with Yoohyeon she sometimes forgets that she’s scum beneath it all. She forgets that she should be hanging by a noose for all the death and destruction she has wrought. She forgets that there’s not just evil and lies and deceit in the world. There are good things, too. With Yoohyeon she feels like _she_ is a good thing too.  
  
“Yoo—”  
  
“I know you have secrets,” she cuts her off. “I know there’s a gun beneath your pillow.”  
  
Yubin draws back to look her straight in the eye. A twinge of panic flutters in her chest but Yoohyeon seems calm. She can’t help but wonder what else Yoohyeon has seen if she has at all.  
  
“I know you’re scared of someone,” Yoohyeon continues. “Is it Handong?”  
  
Yubin laughs. _No, silly,_ she wants to say, _it’s you._  
  
“No.”  
  
Yoohyeon’s brow wrinkles. “Then who?”  
  
“No one you need to worry about.”  
  
Yoohyeon pouts. Yubin’s stomach clenches because it’s adorable. She can’t help herself. She can’t resist. She leans back in, discards the cigarette, and kisses Yoohyeon again. That’s all they’ve ever done. Just kissing. She’s afraid to do anything more. Scared of the stirrings Yoohyeon creates. Terrified that she’ll want more and more.  
  
She can’t want more. She shouldn’t have wanted at all. But she does want more. She wants to hold this spark of light close. She wants to cling to it like a lucky charm. Or a warding spell. One that holds the ghosts and the demons at bay and rips the cages off her lungs so she can breathe again.  
  
“That’s not fair,” Yoohyeon whines between kisses. “You’re distracting me.”  
  
No. It’s Yoohyeon who is distracting. She slips into Yubin’s mind at the worst of times, making her brain foggy when she needs it to be sharp.  
 _  
“She’s not good to have around us,"_ Handong said to her one evening.  
  
It was one evening of a string of evenings that Yoohyeon found her way to the back of the shop, propped on a stool as Yubin fussed with a watch at her work station. Handong lingered around, too. Yubin noticed Handong liked to listen to Yoohyeon tell her stories almost as much as she does and she wonders if Yoohyeon makes Handong forget about the flask she has hidden in the drawer of her desk in favor of finding solace in words spilled off precious lips instead.  
  
 _“Should I get rid of her?”_  
  
 _“It’s too late for that,”_ Handong said in words but there’s much hidden between the lines. They can easily get rid of Yoohyeon. That’s not the issue. It’s that they...don’t want to.  
  
 _“She’s sweet.”_ That’s all Handong says. Yubin knows she means more than that but they don’t talk about it. Talking about Yoohyeon is a subject neither would like to speak up about. They just continue to allow her into a space she shouldn’t be, risking their lives for a couple of hours of sunshine in their bleak lives.  
  
Yubin wonders when they fell so deeply.  
  
Yubin draws away to look at Yoohyeon. She doesn’t know how but morning Yoohyeon is softer than day and night Yoohyeon. Plush. Like a pillow you want to lie on and sleep for hours and hours and hours.  
  
“Do you really want to know the truth?”  
  
Yoohyeon gasps. “Yes.”  
  
Yubin shifts her eyes from one of Yoohyeon’s to the other. “Your father.”  
  
Yoohyeon blinks. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Her mouth pulls into a grin and she laughs. It’s infectious and Yubin can’t help but smile herself.  
  
“I’m serious,” Yubin tells her. “Why are you laughing?”  
  
“He’d like you,” says Yoohyeon, sobering.  
  
Yubin snorts. He _does_ like her. He likes her for what she can do. For how reliable she is. Her skill set makes her a lethal predator. An ace hitman. He likes her enough to pay her in millions. He likes her enough to trust that she’ll never cross a line or betray him, lets her have her watch shop and her partner in arms without much checking in.  
  
It’s the fear of him coming by one day when his daughter is wrapped around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder as she works that eats at her. He won’t hesitate to put a bullet through her skull. Or make Handong do it. Or make herself do it.  
  
 _“You’re to protect this family but never once think you’re part of it,”_ he said.  
  
“Would he?”  
  
“Yeah!” Yoohyeon’s brow furrows. “I think so.”  
  
“Even if he knew we did this?” She refers to the bed and the way Yoohyeon’s hand has absentmindedly been running up and down her thigh.  
  
Yoohyeon hums through a grin. “Oh, maybe not.” Her eyes screw up as she thinks for a moment. “But he doesn’t have to know.”  
  
He can’t know.  
  
“I won’t tell if you don’t tell,” Yubin jokes.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
It’s flimsy but it’s enough assurance. Even if they’re being silly, it eases some of the worry.  
  
“Do you know what that means?” asks Yoohyeon as she leans in so that their noses bump.  
  
Yubin’s eyes flutter half-closed in reflex. “Hm?”  
  
“We’ll just have to run away together. To keep you safe.”  
  
She’s joking but she doesn’t know how true those words are. This isn’t something that can be. Not here. And there’s no guarantee that her boss won’t send someone after her for putting her hands on his family no matter how many countries they hop.  
  
But she’s getting ahead of herself.  
  
That’s not a possible future. No. It’s not. She can’t allow herself to even entertain the idea though her brain betrays her. It conjures images of bay windows clouded by smoke as Yubin sucks a cigarette, Yoohyeon seated on the ledge, cradled back against her front while Handong steps in with a drink that doesn’t put her into a stupor. They’re far removed from all of this. Devils forgiven and made holy by the angel that accepted them.  
  
“Take me away,” Yubin mutters around a tightening in her chest.  
  
Yoohyeon chuckles and kisses her deep.  
  
And for those few moments Yubin forgets what it means to fear.  
  
All she does is hope.


	2. Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Dadong] In another life, maybe they did fall in love with each other. More in love than they already are. The real sort of love. Not the kind forged in bullets and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated [M]: Sexual content, a dash of knife play, detailed depictions of blood, violence, and death.

  
A box slides across the counter. Blue and white. Yubin waves away the option for a bag and swipes the box up after exchanging a stack of bills and refuses the change. She doesn’t need the money. She was plenty more where that came from. No one would think so by the way she’s dressed.  
  
Like a broke, failure of a uni kid who dives into the clothing donation bins for whatever will fit with shoes that are outdated and tacky and thoroughly worn in.  
  
 _“They're my favorite pair,”_ she remembers telling Handong who scoffed in her face.  
  
They’re not just worn in, they’re stained but they mold to her feet the way a new pair doesn’t do at first. She’s too stubborn to break in new shoes. Like the ones Handong bought her that hang out still in the box tucked somewhere deep in her closet. She promises she’ll try them one day.  
  
 _“When there are holes in the soles of the ones you have?”_ Handong said.  
  
Yubin just shrugged. _“Maybe not even then.”_  
  
Plastic peels from around the box with a pull of the teeth. Yubin discards it in a wastebin she passes on the way out of the convenience store and pops open the top. She pulls out a long white stick and slips it between her lips up to the thin, black line that rings one end. A lighter fished from the pocket of her black jeans — the ones with the holes in the knees — lights the end and she sucks in a breath.  
  
 _Ick._  
  
She hates this brand. But they were out of the ones she likes and nicotine is nicotine however bad it may taste.  
  
It’s warm outside. Sweat already starts to bubble up on her back making her dark button-down cling in places she doesn’t want.  
  
 _“Do you wear anything in your proper size?”_ Handong has asked her. Especially when she shows up in sweatshirts that hang off her shoulders, constantly having to push up the sleeves every time they fall down and get in the way of her work, making repairs take longer than necessary.  
  
Yubin remembers lifting up a foot and pointing at her dingy shoe. Handong just rolled her eyes, a smile cloaked behind a swig from an amber bottle.  
  
She doesn’t ask questions like that anymore.  
  
Yubin trails the sidewalk and finds her way past the car she left parked at a meter without dropping a cent into it and dips into an alleyway. A set of stairs leads down into the basement level of an old, beat-up building that Yubin lets herself into. It takes her two tries to get the knob to work and the door creaks a little too loudly for her liking.  
  
It’s no cooler inside, AC having long been shut off in this part of the building. There’s nothing in here really. Only the remains of an old gopchang shop gone under and abandoned. Advertisements on the walls remain in faded colors and writing, wrinkled from water damage and others half torn off. Small, metal tables and their chairs remain scattered across the floor where the bumpers on the bottoms of legs have drawn crimson lines on the dusty tiles.  
  
Yubin blows out a puff of smoke as she looks down at the mess. There’s going to be more clean-up than they planned for.  
  
The pad of her footsteps into the room brings the attention of eyes over to her. Handong sits back on one of the tables in a skirt and heels, top contouring to every curve of her body. There’s blood on her knuckles. There’s blood on her hands. There’s blood on the knife she holds, idly picking at her nails with the tip. When she sees Yubin she purses her lips.  
  
“Did you have a good breather?”  
  
Yubin brings the cigarette back to her mouth after tapping out the ashes. She takes a drag, savoring the smoke for a few seconds before she answers. “I got you a snack.”  
  
Handong catches the box from midair as it flies across the room. She puts down the knife only to take out a cigarette and Yubin closes the distance between them to singe the tip with her lighter.  
  
“Has he talked?” asks Yubin, head motioning to the sagging body bound to one of the metal chairs across from where Handong is sitting.  
  
He’s in rough shape. His suit jacket splits back like a banana peel and his dress shirt beneath has been sliced through to reveal the broad plain of his chest. Red stains white fabric, soaking through it from the slashes that mare his skin in flares of color. As if the bruises Yubin left from a punch in the eye and a broken nose that has only just stopped trickling wasn’t bad enough. Though she doesn’t expect any less from Handong. She’s ruthless. That’s what makes them so perfect together.  
  
“Barely a few words,” says Handong through a smoky cloud. It distorts her face and pretty eyes. Yubin used to find them terrifying. Her gaze is so sharp. Same as the blade she chooses as a companion. “I’m getting bored.”  
  
“We don’t need to keep this up.”  
  
“I know.” Handong sighs.  
  
Yubin shakes her head. She’s said before that it isn’t always nice to play with their meal tickets. But Handong listens to no one but herself and Yubin won’t deny her the stress relief she knows it brings her. Somehow Yubin thinks it’s a better coping mechanism than the booze. Even if it’s the fact that they’re tasked to kill people that she needs a coping mechanism for in the first place.  
  
Yubin can’t judge. Not when the revolver beneath her pillow has shaken in her hand as she holds the barrel to her temple, panting in a cold sweat at three a.m., betting on five empty chambers out of six when she pulls the trigger.  
  
It’s fucked up. They’re fucked up. In more ways than one. At the end of the day, it’s all about survival. All about not letting the job get you down.  
  
“Would you like to do the honors?” asks Handong, eyebrows lifted. She’s gotten them done recently. They look good though Yubin won’t tell her that.  
  
Yubin simply nods. She’d love to. If only because she’s sick of this herself. She wants to shower and get rid of the sweat. She wants a glass of ice water to sip while sitting on the windowsill, occasionally chewing an ice cube with a cigarette she actually likes between her fingers. She wants to nap.  
  
Stepping in front of Handong, she squares her shoulders toward the man in the chair. His breathing is heavy. His head sags. He barely has much left in his eyes that strain to look up at her as she reaches back and fishes for the gun tucked beneath the belt in her pants.  
  
The metal is familiar in her grasp — the trigger like an extension of her own finger. Eyes widen before her and the man begins to blabber, spewing scarlet droplets as he tries to create words out of the guttural noises he makes. They sound disgusting. They grate on Yubin’s ears like all the others who beg and plea for their lives. She’s sick of them. Sick of this. She’s far past the point where she cares about things like morals when there’s a stack of cash and guaranteed protection in exchange.  
  
She signed away her humanity long ago, devil’s horns grown out that knocked away her halo.  
  
“C’mon, Binnie,” Handong says behind her, dark and smokey. The pet name swirls warmth in Yubin’s stomach like the orange glow at the butt of a cigarette and everything in her comes to life.  
  
Excitement ripples through her brought on by the adrenaline rush of pulling the trigger. The bullet moves silently across the space and pierces like an arrow between two eyes. Blood sprays as it exits from the back of a skull and a neck snaps backward, eyes staring lifelessly up at the broken, tiled ceiling.  
  
It’s done. Yubin finds herself frowning. Too soon. Maybe Handong has something going on with toying like a cat with her kills.  
  
“Let’s clean up.” Handong pats her on the rear as she slides off the table and starts for the door.  
  
Yubin tucks away her gun and follows after, still simmering from the kill.  
  
“I’ll wait here,” Handong tells her. Good. She’s too bloody to be seen the way she is.  
  
Yubin gathers a pack from the trunk of the car and heads back. There's bleach and a change of clothes inside. A few rags. She returns to Handong slipping her phone away after sending a message to the Pick-Ups. They’ll be around in a half hour or so to properly dispose of the body. Their job right now is to erase any evidence that they were here.  
  
It’s easy now that they’ve done it so much. It’s almost routine and Yubin finds herself catching Handong’s eye every so often as they do it, casting smiles and sharing giddy giggles between one another as if they’ve just won a grand prize at a bingo night competition instead of ending someone’s life.  
  
It’s not that Yubin Loves what she does. Oh, no. It’s that she’s grown used to it. Killing people, it changes you. Yubin wonders when she grew so twisted as she drives them back home. Handong works to pick dried blood from under her fingernails and all she can think about is how she’s been at the end of that knife before, felt the edge bite into her sternum while teeth bit into her neck.  
  
Yubin’s hands tighten on the steering wheel and she looks away from the devil at her side to focus on the road.  
  
Except, Handong notices.  
  
Yubin clears her throat. “Do you want me to drop you off at your place?” she asks, mouth sticky. She puts the cigarette out in the cup holder after a final drag.  
  
Handong looks over at her. Yubin glances over to catch her eye. It’s burning up in the car despite the AC blowing. She’s sweating for a different reason now, brought on by the rush of the kill, the stunning sight of blood, the romancing haze of smoke, and the sultry tone of a voice that says,  
  
“I’ll come home with you.”  
  
Yubin’s jaw flexes. Handong keeps the knife on display.  
  
Arriving at her place, they make it inside. They clean up and Yubin is relieved now that the sweat has been scrubbed away though the effort was futile.  
  
Yubin exits the bathroom second. Handong sits on the edge of her bed in only her underthings. Still, she holds the knife. She cocks her head, motioning Yubin over to her and once she’s close enough, she uses the blade to undo the tuck in the towel that quickly drops.  
  
Yubin gasps. She’s not sure why. They’ve done this many times before. She’s used to being naked for Handong. She’s used to Handong’s touch. She’s used to the way hands slide down her hips as Handong lowers to the floor, falls to the hardwood on her knees, and noses Yubin’s thighs apart.  
  
She’s used to the drag of a tongue that runs along her slit but one thing she isn’t used to, that she’ll never be used to, is the way it makes her feel.  
  
She’ll never be used to the way her everything ignites as Handong prods at her with a tongue. How she, the one known for being oh, so, quiet, begins to pant as Handong eats her alive. How the stack of events that happened prior all rush together creating a needy, bubbling, pulsing want in her akin to hunger.  
  
Perhaps it’s an escape. For both of them. Another form of coping that they picked up in the years that they’ve served side-by-side. Yubin can’t say that she loves Handong. But she knows — only because she dares admit it to herself late, late at night where only the shadows can hear her thoughts — that she would cry if Handong was gone. If she lost her.  
  
Almost the same way she cries out as lips attach to her and suck. Yubin groans, low and loud. Her hand comes around to grip at hair but the sting of the flat side of a knife smacks it away.  
  
God. She forgot about that knife. Suddenly she wonders what it would feel like burying in her skin. What would it feel like to be tied to a chair, Handong hovering over her, spilling her blood from the slits she makes over and over and over.  
  
It’s such a wicked thought. One pulled from a box she normally keeps tucked away that holds any semblance of right and wrong that she has left. She knows they’re heathens and they deserve a heathen’s death, but how sweet would that death be if it was done by the hands of another demon, taken from this life perhaps even together. A gun and a blade. A plunge into her chest at the same time a bullet blasts through a skull.  
  
Yubin knows Handong thinks like that, too. That’s why they do _this._  
  
Yubin tries to grip out again, seeking anything to help keep her upright. But as soon as she tries to balance herself on shoulders, Handong slaps her arms away.  
  
“Handong,” she growls it. Her legs quiver. Her thighs burn. Her stomach knots up and she looks down to see eyes staring back up at her fierce and wicked. She pulses. _“Dongie.”_  
  
The name flips a switch and Yubin finds herself spinning with the force of rough hands. Her back hits the mattress where she bounces as hands take her calves, hooking them over shoulders as a head dips down into the flood.  
  
Yubin arches upward, hands reaching above her head for the blankets that spill between her fingers. Her nipples strain against the air and her body glistens all over once again.  
  
Handong takes care of her like she deserves nice things, and as she nears that peak, she thinks for a second that she finds her soul once again. How else would she be able to feel such euphoria? Such thankfulness as the work of a tongue sends her into shudders that make her wonder if this is what dying happy must feel like. If this is what being truly happy — truly free — feels like.  
  
Yubin is limp and worn once everything stops. Like her shoes. That tickles her and she finds herself laughing at the thought.  
  
“What?” Handong questions.  
  
Yubin sobers slowly, panting still from the high that has yet to wear off. She’s still thrumming. She finds Handong kneeling between her legs that have been shrugged away from shoulders, mouth glossy wet. Yubin blinks slowly up at her, suddenly caught up by how lovely Handong can be beneath it all. In another life, maybe they did fall in love with each other. More in love than they already are. The real sort of love. Not the kind forged in bullets and blood. One that’s not a means to distract from all of this.  
  
“I feel like a shoe,” says Yubin.  
  
Handong rolls her eyes. She wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and gets up, leaving the room. Yubin knows where she's headed and she hears the fridge open and shut with the clink of bottles twinkling through the air like windchimes.  
  
A top pops off with an opener and clatters onto the hardwood as Handong returns and sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to pick up the discarded towel. The knife she once held lays on the mattress by Yubin’s leg right behind where Handong sits.  
  
“Are you going to get dressed?” Handong asks as she tosses the towel onto her. She takes a long drink. A full gulp followed by another deep one.  
  
Yubin moves fast, harnessing what bit of energy she pulls up to snatch up the hilt of the blade and sling her arm around Handong’s neck.  
  
The bottle in her hands drops, spilling contents onto the floor and she sucks in a breath, the action causing her chest to push out, chin tilting up and pressing her throat against the knife that Yubin holds there.  
  
“Not until I play with you first,” Yubin says into her ear.  
  
The vibration of Handong’s laugh shivers through her. “And here I thought you were going to leave me hanging.” She reaches back for the clasp of her bra and Yubin allows her enough space to take it off. “Be gentle with me?” She bats her lashes, feigning innocence they both know she has long lost.  
  
Yubin presses the cool, flat side of the metal to her chest. Handong moans as the sharp edge bites just barely at her skin.  
  
“No.”  
  
And then she pulls her into a biting kiss.


End file.
